July, 1979  Caravan
by fanastikal
Summary: Balthazar's latest excursion takes him from NYC to the southeast coastline, where he focuses on an unusual caravan, and one occupant in particular.  Rating for general 'ick' factor, and coarse language, but nothing graphic.  OC, of course.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N_: Okay, here it is, two weeks after I promised I'd have it up within two weeks. Been editing the bejeebers out of it, and then I realized it was too long for one page, so it's turned into a 2-chapter one-shot, if such a thing is possible. I think it's tame for an M, but my OC's occupation blows it out of the water, and I'd rather be safe than sorry. I wrote this before I ever found this site, so I'll already have a bigger audience than just passing it around to friends and coworkers, M be darned, like socks!

**Disclaimer: Anything to do with The Sorcerer's Apprentice 2010 is not mine, of course.** _ Everything else, especially Shevvy, has been mine, mine, mine for literally years, and I'm not letting go, ever!_

**July, 1979 - Caravan**

It was Summer, and he just felt like driving. He'd wandered for centuries, scouring the globe, but had basically finally settled in New York City nearly a hundred years ago. Not that he was ever really 'settled'. His quest was always on his mind, so if he got the inclination to travel, he would, just like that. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but he didn't care. He had the money and, if he stayed within the continent, the car, the Phantom. It was a perfect name, especially considering the way he'd been ghosting in and out of children's lives for ages, looking for the one. He traveled light, and instinctively. Whatever he needed, he could buy, or perhaps barter, like ages past. Or conjure, though he tried to avoid that unnecessarily. He did that more when he wanted to avoid people; but being on this quest meant that he really shouldn't avoid people, especially children.

The Rolls Royce was following the southeastern coastline down towards Florida, a benevolent reverse hurricane filled with magic. It wasn't in a hurry, and took no direct route or highway, just as many side roads as possible. Traffic jams didn't appeal to its owner, and actively scanning other cars would be a distraction both to him and other drivers: Too frantic.

The car slowed as its owner sensed something odd up ahead. Very odd. Not supernatural odd, but very humanly odd. There were five huge mobile homes parked side-by-side about 30 feet from where the road turned into sand, and they reeked of sex. There was also a van, a station wagon, and a Porsche that connected, not literally, to the trailers. It was a private stretch of beach, with a very clear 'NO TRESPASSING' sign attached to a telephone pole. It was maybe a quarter mile from the vehicles to the water, and there was a gathering of about 15 people near the edge, including a boy. The car pulled up behind the vehicles, unable to be seen from the water's edge. The owner shut off the engine, intrigued. Brothels were illegal, not that anybody cared, but a traveling brothel?

He exited the Phantom curiously, but didn't plan to leave it just yet, wondering just how strictly these people were enforcing their privacy, and why a traveling brothel would want privacy in the first place. Kinda against the whole point of running a business. He stretched absentmindedly and laid his right hand on the first trailer. Three people lived there, but no one was in there now. The second one had a kitchen, a bar, and living quarters for one person. The third was three more people's base. The fourth a repeat of the third, but he cringed as he felt the boy's presence: He'd been afraid of that. Moving on to the fifth: An infirmary, an office, and two bedrooms. The owner lived there, and he was definitely approaching. Everyone else was on the beach. He casually leaned back on the Phantom, waiting with arms folded in front of him: This oughta be good.

* * *

><p>Hearing what Marcis had to say about the boy had exhausted him, for some reason. Not that it was bad, or that he was being abused . . . Well, not any more abused than the whole situation called for in general. Marcis had shown him a picture, part of the gallery in his main office, men and women to suit every taste. Fringy, silvery blond hair, sapphire eyes, well-shaped lips and nose, pale, and thin, almost painfully so. He had stood out on the beach, and not just because he was the youngest. Money had gotten the man so far, but his genuine interest in the troubled teen had gotten him farther. Once Marcis had established that he wasn't in cahoots with the police, everything became very easy. A former Marine, he was armed, but he wasn't in any rush to actually use the weapon.<p>

"I could call Shevvy up from the beach, if you'd like," he offered.

"That won't be necessary."

"I'll take you to his room, then, so you can get some rest."

"I'd really like that." He followed Marcis out of one trailer and into another. Shevvy's room was all the way at the back, on the other side of the wall he had palmed.

"I won't charge you extra if you decide to—"

"I just want to talk to him, is all."

"Shevvy's not even completely aware of how seductive he is," Marcis practically scoffed. "Don't be surprised if you find yourself doing things out of character." He closed the door, turning on a room light in the dark space.

"Interesting color scheme," he commented at the dark grey walls, shimmering blue pile carpet, and black furniture.

"Shevvy picked it," Marcis sighed. "I find it horribly depressing." He shook his head, "But it's not my room." The small, attached bathroom was all white, but the carpet continued. "Come and go as you please, and stay as long as you like, but you will need this key." Marcis reached under the top desk drawer, pulling out a single key, opening the door to let himself out before handing it over. "I won't tell Shevvy he has a visitor until he starts to leave the beach."

"Thank you."

"No; thank you." As soon as Marcis left, the key was back under the desk drawer. Of course he wouldn't need it. Then he went out to the Phantom to get some things. "We'll take good care of your car," Marcis had promised, but the man just couldn't see how!

* * *

><p>"There's someone in your room, Shevvy," Marcis announced suddenly, abruptly taking hold of the teen's arm as he was about to leave the gathering at the beach.<p>

"Ah thought we were still on vacation," he grumped in reply, trying to pull away in annoyance, the grip tightening in response.

"I didn't say you had to fuck him."

"Whah would someone be in mah room, otherwahs?" he demanded, trying to comprehend.

"He's been traveling a long time. He's looking for someone, and you're the youngest person here, though he thinks you're still too old at 14—"

"Too old fer what? A pedophahl?"

"Get away from the sex talk, Shevvy; this isn't about that."

"Fergive me, Marcis, but that is what we do." He eyed his imprisoned arm, "You can let go, now, 'cause ah'm intrigued," and the grip instantly released. "What, exactly, do ya want me ta do?"

"He'll probably be sleeping, so let him, as long as he wants. You can lay next to him, but keep your clothes on, or you'll make a fool of yourself. Don't come on to him—"

"Ah git it, Marcis," he snipped.

"He'll talk when he's ready, Shevvy. He may have some things laying around, and you can look, but he will know if you've touched them."

"How long is he stayin'?"

"Maybe a few hours; maybe days; it depends on what he sees in you."

"Maybe _days_?" the teen repeated in exasperation, the man nodding. "How much is he payin' you ta git all this leeway?"

"Let me put it this way: I've rearranged the trailers to encircle his car 'cause, god forbid, it disappears."

Marcis motioned up the beach, now, patting the boy on the back as he left him behind, trudging up the sand. Must be some car. Probably some rich fuck who thinks he can buy everything and everybody. Shevvy didn't like the guy, already. Oh, fuck: He forgot to ask what his name was, or Marcis just forgot to tell him, or maybe he was so rich that he didn't need a name. Maybe his name was _Rich_! Shevvy snickered and lit a cigarette as he got to the trailers, all five circled around, not four feet apart from each other, and made his way in between two to see what the big deal was, stopping short, as the car almost seemed to have a force field around it, preventing him from getting closer. Okay, now he really was intrigued. For one thing, it was seriously, seriously, old. Ridiculously shiny. Mainly black, with grey sides, and tons of chrome. And it wasn't American. It was some kind of Rolls Royce, but a two-seater, with right-hand drive, and door hinges on the wrong side, but that looked so right. He approached it slowly, seriously impressed. But only really old people usually had cars like this; right? No wonder he wasn't supposed to fuck him; he'd probably die from the exertion! The inside looked like the outside; ridiculously well preserved: Obviously, the guy didn't smoke, so Shevvy trashed his own cigarette, suddenly feeling more reverential.

Shevvy's desk was nearly covered by lit white candles, he noted as soon as he entered, filling the room with a soft, flickering, dim light. He'd been wondering how he was going to enter the windowless room without turning on a light and possibly disturbing the man, but now that was a moot point, and he was glad. He was in the bed, under a single cover, facing the air conditioner, and if he was sleeping, he wasn't a snorer. Now that his eyes were adjusting to the light, Shevvy noticed other objects that must belong to this stranger, including an old black leather trench coat hanging on the main door, a faded red velvet bundled cloth and gold-rimmed reading glasses on the desk, and a faded black fedora hooked on the chair. All of his possessions looked aged, but surprisingly, the man, or at least his wavy, shoulder-length dirty blond hair, did not. The teen longed to go around to the other side to see his face, but he did not; he didn't want to be disrespectful. There was a sad but peaceful aura surrounding the man, and it was permeating the room.

"Ah guess ya wan' me ta git some sleep, too, huh?" Shevvy found himself whispering as a sense of weariness began to overtake him, his eyelids growing heavy. The man didn't move, and the boy shrugged, moving for the other side of the bed, still dressed in faded jeans and a loose white silk button-down long-sleeved shirt. He pulled back the cover and the sheet so that he would be under a different layer than the man, and slipped in, facing the opposite direction, his head sinking into the pillow as he immediately fell into a deep sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

The boy was definitely too old, the man noted hours later, passing his ringed hands inches above his sleeping form, but he had a very interesting aura, regardless. And such a strange occupation for one so young. The man found himself smiling at the absurdness of the teen being too young and too old at the same time. Hmmm . . . A picture was suddenly in his hand, Shevvy and his mother . . . Olivia . . . deceased, taken a couple years back, standing side-by-side with one arm wrapped around each other, both smiling. It was lovely.

"You should frame this." He handed the picture to the boy as his eyes opened.

"Ah can't display it," he protested. Violent johns weren't a rule, but they weren't an exception, either.

"Regardless. It deserves better."

"It does," he agreed, sitting up slowly on the edge of the bed.

"You don't have a lot of things," the man noted, one ringed hand resting on the desk.

"Neither do you, it would seem," Shevvy replied, "but, are you wearing every piece of jewelry that you own?"

"Well, it's not exactly 'jewelry', but that's a fair enough observation," he answered back, obviously amused. He walked over to the door, tugging on the collar of the trench coat. "There's another piece here," he pointed out as the teen looked on, a large bronze-looking sun pin visible, "and a pin on the fedora." The man was about six feet tall and healthy looking; maybe around 45, with large, but kind features, including the gentlest blue eyes. A grey-tinged goatee continued low on his face back to his ears, and further softened the look, but it was incomplete, like he had a perpetual five o'clock shadow. The shirt was basically the black version of Shevvy's white silk one, but layered over with a thin dark vest that also buttoned. The shirt was unbuttoned two from the top, and the vest was unbuttoned two from the bottom, a few silver pendants hanging in the vee. The shirt wasn't tucked in, hanging down over the dark dress pants, black leather lace-up dress shoes completing the look. "There's also a necklace in that red velvet pouch, but I'm actually holding that for someone else."

"A girlfriend?" Shevvy found himself wondering aloud, and the man's eyes went suddenly sadder.

"You could say that." And then, possibly so the teen wouldn't regret having asked the question, he said suddenly, nearly laughing, "No, my name is _not_ Rich."

"Only money speaks ta Marcis, so ah jumped to conclusions," he shrugged, trying to ignore the implication of the 'Rich' comment.

"Marcis isn't as shallow as you think."

"Ah know," he admitted. The man was digging in the coat, now:

"I'm obligated to show you something—"

"Usually ah am, too, but yer not the typical visitor—"

"Funny, Shevvy," he said dismissively, laying a carved wooden box on the nightstand next to the picture the teen had put there. "Hold your hand out like this," he instructed, ringed hand flat, palm up, fingers together. Shevvy copied the gesture, and a small silver, ornately detailed dragon with a long tail was stood in his palm. "Just give it a minute."

"Is it supposed to do somethang?" he wondered as the man removed it back to the box a short while later.

"So they say," he shrugged, the box disappearing back into the coat.

"Does this mean yer gonna leave, now?" the teen asked with obvious disappointment.

"You don't want me to leave, yet?" he asked back, for once sounding surprised.

"Ah'm not used ta polaht company," he confessed. "Iss refreshin'."

"I'm not actually that polite," the man countered. "I haven't even told you my name."

"Most of the names ah git are prob'ly false, if ah even git a name at all. If thass yer worst offense, yer a saint in mah book."

"Balthazar," he said quietly, earnestly, watching the boy's reaction as he sat beside him on the edge of the bed. "Balthazar Blake."

"Ev'rythang about you is unusual," was Shevvy's observation, now. "Even yer name."

"Does that bother you?"

"Lahars bother me, an' yer not a lahar." It figured that the one guy he actually found attractive would be the one who wouldn't want to fuck him. It was actually making him nervous to be this close to him, seeing eye to eye. "Can ah look at yer rings?" he asked tentatively, breaking eye contact and looking down. Balthazar's hands were down flat on his closed legs, giving the boy permission. "Moonstone, or Mother-of-Pearl?"

"Moonstone." The hands were large, and the rings were solid, but still not menacing or anything like that. Warm and smooth skin, with every finger adorned but the thumbs.

"And Onyx?"

"Yes." A couple were just solid silver, but the most striking one was an oversized green diamond, in a diamond shape no less, on the right index finger.

"This is beautiful," he breathed, the gem almost glowing as he looked at it.

"Thank you."

"Thank you," Shevvy almost found himself blushing, standing suddenly: "Talk about not bein' polaht: Are you hungry?"

Everybody in the dining trailer was watching the mysterious man sitting with Shevvy at the counter, but Balthazar either didn't notice or didn't care, which was most likely. He actually seemed to notice absolutely everything, including that Marcis had rearranged the trailers to 'protect' his car, and he wasn't pleased about it.

"I'm not here to inconvenience anyone," he stated as he and Shevvy ate their pepper steaks. "Nobody'll touch her."

"Well, Marcis is cautious," Shevvy reasoned. "So let him be happy that he did what he thought was rahght." The man nodded, smiling slightly.

"Do they think you're on a date?" Balthazar wondered, now, finally acknowledging the curious eyes.

"Ah have no ahdea," the teen admitted. "We're on vacation, an' we never go through the motions, anyway; strictly sex."

"Let's have some tea as a chaser, and go sit down by the water," Balthazar suggested once they were almost finished eating, Shevvy nodding happily as he looked at him.

It was a proper tea, if not at the proper time, the cups perched daintily on saucers, the two strolling slowly down the sand in the dark of night toward two upright chaises on the edge of the ocean, a bonfire roaring behind.

"Do you have other plans for your life?"

"Undoubtedly."

"This occupation is highly unusual, especially for a boy your age." Balthazar was staring intently at him, the green diamond ring glowing softly.

"The alternatives were worse, ah thought: Orphanages . . . foster homes."

"It is an interesting kind of 'family'," the man admitted. "They are quite protective of you."

"An' the money's good, though ah won' really see that 'til ah leave."

"Leave when you're 18, Shevron; that's the earliest you can leave without a hassle," he practically commanded, then shook his head in disbelief. "After four years of this, I'm not sure you'll be recognizable." He found himself laughing, now: "I've been on a journey for a very, very long time, but your four years is sounding like forever to me."

"An' thass funny?" Shevvy asked pointedly, almost insulted, but the man's humor had been brief.

"Not actually at all, but in my context, it's way out of proportion."

"Yer context?" the teen puzzled, eyeing the ring as it glowed again.

"I really should have left," Balthazar said sadly.

"Ah don' need ta know yer context, or whah that ring jus' glows of iss own accord," Shevvy said quickly, apologetically.

"You're too observant, Shevvy."

"So sue me," he snapped. "Ah'm not askin' fer explanations."

"You're not asking that, but you are asking something else: I'm making you uncomfortable, Shevvy."

"So?" He stood up slowly, up to the man's chair, looking down as Balthazar looked up at him. "Ah think ah'm makin' _you_ uncomfortable."

"Because you want to have sex with me?" the man almost smiled. "That's what you're trained for; you're supposed to want to have sex."

"Ah'm not supposed ta wanna have sex with you, ya understand; Marcis forbade it."

"That's because it's not going to happen, and he understood that, but it's not a normal situation for you."

"Ah don' wanna fuck you 'cause iss mah job," Shevvy seethed now. "How far gone do you think ah am?"

"A lot less far gone than you'll be in another four years . . . I'm flattered, Shevvy."

"How flattered?" he asked hopefully. Balthazar was up instantly, their clothed fronts touching, grasping Shevvy's arms near the shoulders, holding him motionless.

"So flattered that I have to leave," he whispered, his mouth gently covering Shevvy's own in a kiss, a shock wave running through every vein in his body as the man's right hand palmed his jawline, the ring glowing again.

* * *

><p>The chaise was flat, and Shevvy slowly woke up sprawled face-down on it as the rising sun shone on the beach, his tea cup and saucer half-buried in the sand underneath, and then it hit him: <em>Balthazar!<em> The bonfire had long since burned itself out, and the man's chair was still upright, empty cup and saucer perched neatly on the armrest, and Shevvy struggled off his chaise and staggered up the beach, his head spinning, his entire body tingling. The trailers were still in a circle, but the car had vanished, and he grasped the corners of two of the motor homes to support himself and scrunched his eyes closed in disbelief.

"Where's Balthazar?" Marcis sputtered from behind the boy, looking over his shoulder.

"Gone," Shevvy managed in a rasp.

"How the fuck is that possible?" the man demanded. "I made sure the car couldn't be moved; the trailers are too close together!"

"Gone," Shevvy repeated, his entire body trembling sporadically.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Oh my god, why was this bothering him so much? A half-sob arose out of nowhere, Marcis watching as he pulled his hands down and turned from the enclosure, palms now up to his face. He was crying and stumbling all the way to his room, just knowing what he would find when he got there. Nothing. It was just like Balthazar had never been there. No trace of the candles, or their scent, even from their burning. No coat, no hat, no velvet pouch, no reading glasses. Maybe if he hadn't approached him like that, he would still be here. But then Shevvy shook his head, sitting on the edge of the bed, crying harder now, just trying to get it out of his system. He knew better. Balthazar was never meant to stay. He was searching for something, and it definitely hadn't been here.

_"You should frame this."_

Shevvy's head shot up from his hands, his swollen eyes scanning the room, the first words from Balthazar's voice having thundered in his ears, plain as day. But of course he wasn't there.

"Ah can't display it," he said tearfully, repeating his original answer to no one.

_"Regardless. It deserves better."_ He had waited for it, and there it was, Balthazar's reply.

"It does," he sniffled now, repeating the last of that conversation, his eyes drawn toward the nightstand where he remembered laying down the picture of him and Mama, the subject of that first discussion. And there it was. On display. In a frame, a beautiful, intricate filigree silver frame. New, but happy tears were falling now, Shevvy reaching over with two trembling hands, picking up the picture as if it were gold, which, to him, it was. He traced the frame with his fingers, then sniffed it out of curiosity, then kissed it before hugging it to his chest: "Thank you, Balthazar."

_"Thank you, Shevvy."_

* * *

><p>He'd forgotten about the Southern drawl that permeated everyone's speech, but Shevron Levvy Travis' in particular. He was fond of accents, but his own British one had disappeared years before. Shevvy's was so ingrained and so spread out from different regions he'd lived in that he seriously doubted the boy would ever lose it. And, he wasn't quite the child the man was looking for. He was 14, going on 40. Very mature and world weary for his years, and not at all stupid. Maybe destined for something special, possibly to make up for his shitty beginnings, but he was definitely not a sorcerer.<p>

And the search continued . . .

* * *

><p><em>AN: _ I'm back! Just to clarify, I know the difference between lie and lay, and I don't care. Lie to me means not telling the truth, so my brain will not let anyone lie down. They must lay down. They may well lie while laying in bed, but to lie while lying in bed is just redundant to me. This is also a test to see if you've read this far. This is an obvious outtake from what is to be my second novel. Anything from the movie is added to a world I've already created. At a later point, maybe even my third novel, Shevvy actually ends up in NYC. Hmmmm . . .  
>I also believe that only a child should be trying on the dragon ring, as per the movie, to paraphrase, "The child that will grow to be the Prime Merlinean.' I guess it depends on your definition of 'child', but I think a teenager is too old, so that's what I wrote for Balthazar's train of thought.<p> 


End file.
